


Wings and a Trenchcoat

by Dizzojay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, Family, Feels, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 13,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzojay/pseuds/Dizzojay
Summary: What could possibly be more lovable than the musings of Supernatural's very own adorable and delightfully literal angel.This is a collection of drabbles and one-shots focussing on Castiel.  Some of these are already posted individually at this site.The general rating of these works is K+ to T





	1. The Righteous Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little piece of introspective Castiel.

When my father first created mankind, he commanded us to bow down and adore them; they were his greatest creation, he said.

Many of my brothers disagreed. They could not understand why our father had sullied this Earth, his most magnificent creation, with these creatures. They were small, weak and utterly insignificant. They were flawed.

To command an angel to pay homage to these – insects - was an insult of the highest order. Our kind encapsulated all the purity of Heaven and the crushing might of goodness and virtue over evil. The celestial lumiscence of one angel could burn each and every one of these human specks to ash.

Many of my brothers rebelled.

I, however, did not; I wanted to be a good son. I had not always been so in the past, so I devoted my existence to protecting my father's creation. It wasn't my duty to like them, and I had no intention of doing so.

But that was before.

Before the day I stormed Hell to free 'the Righteous Man'. On that day I found a man broken in every way it is possible to be broken. Broken in body, broken in spirit, and most of all broken by what he had been forced to become.

Broken because of his sacrifice for one he loved.

At first, I saw in this only weakness. But now I know different.

Over the years I have watched that righteous man fight and bleed for those he loves, for those he barely knows, and those he has never met.

I have watched him endanger himself again and again, and I know that it is that very weakness that I first despised that makes him stronger than me. He risks pain and the destruction of his fragile human body with every hunt he undertakes, and yet he faces danger without pause, without complaint and without a care for his own welfare.

I watch him now as he sleeps. His bruised face is temporarily at rest; one bandaged arm cradled over broken ribs. The faint odour of sweat, of grime and gunsmoke still hangs over his exhausted body.

He is broken once again, but soon he will mend, and he will do it all over again.

I know now how wrong my brothers and I were. Humans are not small or weak or insignificant; and Dean Winchester is the best of his kind. He is a titan.

That day in Hell, it was my sworn duty to find and liberate the righteous man; I had no obligation to like him.

Nor was it my duty to love him.

xxxxx

end


	2. The Watchman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It looks like Mary was right ...

Dean shifted uneasily in his bed, and sighed into his pillow.

Skirting the drifting edge of sleep and wakefulness, his eyes blinked blearily through the darkness as he wondered briefly what it was that had woken him.

As awareness fluttered around him, he sensed a presence in the room, some way away from him; a presence that was watching him. A silent, calm - familiar - presence. One that moved through the bunker at night like a warm breath on a winters morning, yet stood stock still for hours as Dean slept. One that revered Dean's every breath, every sigh, as if it were something precious and rare to be treasured.

One that kept the nightmares far away.

A presence that had no concept of personal space and showed no immediate signs of developing one; and, infuriatingly, who knew perfectly well that Dean's vocal protestations that being watched while he slept was 'creepy' were only for Sam's consumption.

Dean's eyes drifted closed, and he rolled back onto his stomach, mashing the pillow into his face with a smile and a contented groan, as sleep claimed him once again.

Many years ago, his Mother had told him often that Angels would watch over him.

She missed out the part that his one would be a nerdy little dude with an ill-fitting trench coat.

xxxxx

end


	3. There's Always One ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get ready for a Hallowe'en party but the best laid schemes of angels and men often go awry ...

Dean stood proudly outside the bunker, resplendent in a disturbingly figure-hugging Batman costume.

Beside him stood the Impala. Sporting massive gleaming black wings, red go-faster stripes, and tyres that looked like they belonged on the space shuttle, she basked under Dean's admiring gaze.

"Batman's gotta have his Batmobile," Dean crowed, lovingly patting her glossy black fender; "an' she makes the best Batmobile EVER!"

Behind Dean, and eternally grateful that Batman's long, black cape covered the obscene bulge of Dean's spandex-clad ass, Sam adjusted his bowler hat. Alfred had never looked so good.

He glanced at his watch. "Dean, we're gonna be late."

"But I can't go without Robin," Dean whined; "I'll look freakin' stupid!"

Sam perused Dean's foam-padded pecs, complete with integrated Kevlar nipples and tried to ignore the crushing irony of that statement.

"CAS', WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" Dean yelled into the bunker's entrance; "C'mon dude, shake a leg!"

They paused on hearing the rapid pitter-patter of footsteps on the bunker's metal staircase. "Coming," the angel yelled breathlessly; "I collected my Robin costume this morning, and I've been having problems with it."

As he emerged into the daylight, the brothers' hearts simultaneously sank.

"My beak didn't fit."

xxxxx

end


	4. The Customer is Always Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Crowley's Covert Christmas Fic exchange on Livejournal. The prompt was: Castiel goes Christmas shopping, (point of view of a shop assistant trying to help him buy Dean the perfect gift).
> 
> Warnings for double entendres and misunderstandings!

It's been a busy day here at Main Street Department Store. It's two weeks before Christmas, and don't I know it!

I feel wrecked; my feet are aching, and so's my back - along with pretty much every other part of me. I'm hot and exhausted, but it looks like the Christmas shopping rush is dying down for today – finally!

It's 7.45 pm. Fifteen minutes - fifteen glorious minutes - and then I can go home; I think I've earned a glass of wine tonight.

Closing my eyes, I stretch, rolling my neck to try to ease some of the tension out of my shoulders; damn, that feels good.

Although when open my eyes, the tension pings straight back in there, because I do a double take; somehow, right across the counter in front of me, there's a man standing there. Where the heck he came from, I've no idea. He's got this shock of jet black bed hair and he's staring at me with these big soulful eyes – jeez, I've never seen such deep blue eyes, and sad too - he looks like someone's just run over his puppy.

The other thing I can't help but notice is this stupid trenchcoat he's wearing. It certainly isn't one of our lines - it looks like it was made to measure for Quasimodo's little brother.

Oh well, I guess I'm still on the clock for another fifteen – no, make that fourteen - minutes, so I'd better see what he wants.

"Hello sir," I flash my most professional smile.

"Hello," he replies hesitantly.

After a few seconds during which we stand and stare expectantly at each other, I decide that this one's either the strong, silent type or the 'afraid of women' shy nerdy type - I suspect the latter. Either way, I need to move this along.

"Uh, can I help you sir?"

His shoulders appear to slump a little as he answers; "I do not know."

D'you know what? Forget the glass, I'll just have the bottle.

I stifle a sigh, dredging up every interminable minute of customer care training I've ever endured, and try a different tack; "what can I help you with, sir?"

A hint of a relieved smile plays on the guy's face. "I would like to buy a Christmas gift for my friend," he states bluntly, adding a shy "thank you."

"Okay," I begin hesitantly, gesturing around the ten thousand four hundred and twenty seven different items of stock we have on display around the store (I learned that in customer care training too); "have you seen anything you like?"

"I understand that the purpose of buying a Christmas gift is that it should be something the recipient likes, not the purchaser," he replies uncertainly.

"Uh, well yes, but …" I begin, floundering to make my point understood; "but if you know the friend well enough, then you'll know when you see something that they would like."

His brow furrows into a constipated frown as he ponders on my explanation. God help me, but I'm starting to feel sorry for him.

"Okay, so let's start at the beginning," I suggest as brightly as I can manage; "is your friend a man or a woman?"

"He is a man," he responds confidently; "his name is Dean."

"Okay," I reply, "that's good, that narrows it down for us. And you and this Dean - are you close friends?"

He nods, "yes, we share a profound bond."

"Ah, okay," I flick him a knowing glance; "I'm getting it now."

"So," I ask; "how about clothes?" I gesture toward the sign that points toward mens' outfitting; "what sort of things does Dean like to wear?"

He pauses, thinking far harder than I would have thought necessary for such a simple question.

"He likes to wear T-shirts and jeans," he eventually responds with a triumphant nod.

Well, that was hardly worth all the brainpower he committed to it.

"Sometimes," he continues out of the blue; "he has to wear costumes. He doesn't like doing it, but his brother makes him do it because it is more authentic when they have to go out and probe people."

"Oh," is about all I can manage right now; "uh, okay … no costumes then."

He shakes his head; "I am friends with Dean's brother too. When we are together as a threesome, I watch over them when they sleep."

There's a brief moment's silence while my mind tries to process the direction this conversation is heading and fails miserably. All I know is that one bottle of wine won't be nearly enough.

"But my true bond is with Dean;" he continued; "I gripped him tight and raised him from perdition."

"Right …"

I know it's rude to stare, really I do, but I just can't help it.

I clear my throat before attempting to continue our conversation. "What about something personal then," I ask, choosing my words carefully; "might Dean like that?"

He cocks his head like some kind dopey Labrador; there's that furrowed brow again. Really? Am I speaking Swahili?

"I do not know what you mean by personal," he murmurs, those vivid blue eyes boring into me like he's trying to read my thoughts – God help me if he did.

"I know Dean is fond of his personal space;" he explains, completely not getting what I just suggested; "he is always shouting about it, particularly when I get too close; like the time he was in the shower and …"

"Okay, OKAY, right, yes … no," I squeak; "I meant personal from you to him, like jewellery – a watch or something!"

"Oh," he goes momentarily silent again; "Dean already has a watch," he eventually replies glumly.

"Right," I sigh, resisting the urge to roll my eyes; "of course he does."

I glance at my own watch. Has only four minutes gone by? I feel like I've aged five years.

"What about music?" I ask, wincing at the edge of desperation creeping into my voice; "perhaps some music that he likes?"

The guy nods approvingly at my suggestion, and my hopes rise briefly.

"He likes rock music," he announces; "he listens to it when he's in his baby."

"Pardon?"

"His baby," they guy repeats, as if I should know exactly what he's talking about; "she's forty seven years old and black and Dean thinks she's beautiful." A faint smile crosses his face; "she is quite beautiful, I guess. Dean's brother often gets in his baby too. So do I, but I always have to go in the back."

For the first time, choking on my tongue becomes a very real possibility. Ten thousand four hundred and twenty seven different items of stock and I can't think of a single thing that I could recommend to this guy.

He's standing there looking at me so hopefully, like I'm his font of all knowledge.

There's not enough wine in the world …

"Movies?" I suggest weakly; "or TV shows he likes, could you buy him a box set?"

… Please, I add silently.

"I am not familiar with a lot of the TV he watches," he replies; "it is difficult for me to comprehend." He shoots me a look of such intensity, I feel my heart sink; "I mean, I can understand that the lady would remove all her clothes before the pizza man arrived, so that she wouldn't get tomato stains down them, but surely the hot pizza topping would have scalded her while the pizza man was eating it off of her …"

"Toiletries?" I almost shout; "cologne or fragrance or after shave lotion, does he like that sort of thing?"

I get the furrowed brow again; "He does wear a fragrance," he eventually replies; "the smell is not unpleasant, its scent suggests a molecular structure based on musk and sandalwood with a hint of leather and citron. I saw him applying it to his face that time in the shower when I …"

"Okay, okay," I snap, waving my hands in front of his face to try to get his attention; "I get it."

"And he uses an antiperspirant called 'Stud', which he sprays under his arms." The guy continues, seemingly oblivious to my desperate attempts to get him to shut the hell up; "it has the scent of cinnamon and pine needles. I remember that because after he yelled at me about his personal space, he threw the can at me and it left a bruise on my forehead."

Feeling my will to live slipping away, I nod silently. The English language has failed me miserably in this conversation from the far side with trenchcoat guy, so I give up on using it.

"It may not be wise for me to select a fragrance for a gift, however," he continues, presumably not hearing the whimper that I let out, despite myself. "I believe Dean's skin must be very sensitive; when I gripped him tight, I did not realise how fragile he was, and I left handprints on his skin which did not fade for a very long time. That was at the same time that he said I had restored his virginity, but I do not know how that could have happened because I did not grip him anywhere near his …

"SECURITY!"

xxxxx

end


	5. Hark, The Hammered Angel Sings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels and Eggnog should never mix.

Sitting with the Winchesters at their dinner table, Castiel merrily swirled his half-drained glass of eggnog around.

"It's only meeeeeeee … " he sang, slurring obnoxiously.

Sam glared at Dean; "you know he hardly ever drinks; why did you give him that third glass?"

"It's Christmas," Dean replied, his eyes twinking brightly with pure mischief; "even angels can let go at Christmas".

"… from over the seeeeeeeeeeea …"

"As well as all the brandy you put in the Christmas cake," Sam scolded; "no wonder he's plastered."

Dean smirked.

"… said Bollocky Bill the Sailor …"

"And who the hell's been teaching him songs like that?"

xxxxx

end


	6. Three's Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are friends and then there is Castiel.

"Can't move," Dean groaned, stretching out across the couch and gifting Sam with an uninterrupted view of his grossly swollen belly protruding between his straining T-shirt and his undone jeans.

"That was one epic Christmas meal," he slurred.

"Not that I saw much of it," Sam snorted.

"Whad'ya mean," Dean grinned; "I let you have all the broccoli."

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean's bulging midriff. "When's it due?"

He grinned at Dean's returning scowl; "appropriate really, seeing as you were just eating for two."

"I forgot Cas doesn't eat," Dean replied; "didn't wanna waste anything after I cooked three helpings."

"So it's his fault," he added, pointing to the bemused angel with an affectionate grin.

Sam burrowed back into his armchair; "it was a great meal, Dean, I'm stuffed too."

"Feels good, don' it Sammy; we've gone hungry for too many Christmases. It's awesome to just be fat for a few days."

Within minutes both Winchesters were gently snoring, sleeping off their mighty feast.

Castiel stood up and stretched before strolling into the kitchen. Reaching into the cookie jar, he snagged a blueberry muffin.

"Angels can eat, Dean," he murmured to himself he munched contentedly; "but not when their friends need it more."

xxxxx

end


	7. White Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is an angel, but he's also a gentleman. And that's why life is so confusing!

Dean felt his chest flood with pride as he straightened Castiel's collar and patted him on the back, sending the apprehensive angel out on his very first date.

He'd given Castiel the requisite talk man to man – or man to angel; 'pay attention to her', he'd instructed solemnly; 'give her lots of compliments – and look her in the eye when you're doing it', and probably, most important of all Dean advised; 'if she asks you in for coffee when you walk her home, it's most probably not just for coffee. Take a condom.'

He'd prepared Castiel for practically every eventuality from his lucky lady not turning up, through to said lucky lady being a raving nymphomaniac. What Castiel didn't know about dating now wasn't worth knowing.

So, later that evening, the last thing Dean was expecting was a monosyllabic Cas on the phone asking to be picked up from the police station.

"What happened, Cas?" Dean asked as he frantically paced the cell in front of the despondent angel; "you assaulted a waiter!"

Castiel sighed, glancing miserably up at Dean from his seat on the cell's single cot. "I punched him on the nose."

Dean rubbed his forehead despairingly. He'd never suffered from migraines, but this felt like the perfect opportunity to start.

"I say it again," Dean snapped; "what the hell happened, Cas?"

"I followed your advice Dean," Castiel mumbled meekly into his shirtfront; "I was attentive. I took interest in her, and I complimented her on her appearance…".

"And …?", Dean prompted.

"And at the end of the evening, we talked about getting the check and I asked if she would like me to walk her home."

"Yeah, then what?"

"Then the waiter came over to our table and asked her if she'd like coffee …"

"I WAS DEFENDING THE LADY'S HONOUR."

xxxxx

end


	8. Whoops!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Winchester Christmas; surely everything will go to plan, won't it?

Dean rolled the impala to a halt in front of the bunker, and hopped out of the driver's door. His giddy, pre-Christmas excitement was plain to see.

"C'mon Sam," he coaxed, yanking open the passenger door; "shake a leg and help me unload all this stuff; I wanna start our Christmas celebrations before midnight!"

"Yeah, okay Dean," Sam responded hesitantly, stepping out of the car; "I've got the beer here and the chips, but I can't help thinking we've forgotten something."

"Ah, quit worrying," Dean grinned, peering around the Impala's open trunk as he rummaged within; "we haven't forgotten anything. I've arranged this supply run with military precision."

He began unloading the packed trunk, calling out each item as he went. "Turkey, potatoes, cranberry jelly, eggnog, pie, more pie, cakes, cookies, wine, cola, TV guide, paper napkins, carrots, that green shit you wanted, bread, cheese and toilet rolls."

Sam checked through the accumulating sprawl of bags, his brow furrowing in concern as Dean continued unloading an impressive collection of gifts from the Impala's seemingly bottomless trunk.

"Dean, honestly, I'm convinced we've forgotten something."

Dean dumped a plastic bag full of wrapping paper and Christmas cards on the ground at Sam's feet with a long sigh.

"Heck Sam, look at this lot," he gestured expansively across the mass of purchases which covered the ground around them; "how can we have possibly forgotten anything? I've even remembered to get indigestion tablets!"

Sam scratched his head absently; "I don't know, I just got this feeling …"

"Well, keep your friggin' feelings to yourself Samantha. Help me get all this inside, then we'll get the Christmas tree; it's on the back seat with …"

They both peered through the rear window onto the impala's back seat.

"…CAS! Oh, crap … we left him back at the mall!"

xxxxx

end


	9. The Tale of a Tortoise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new resident at the bunker. Dean's not impressed!

"Why did Cas want a tortoise, Sam?"

"Who knows, he wanted a pet and this is what he got."

"But it doesn't do anything. You can't throw a ball for it, It doesn't play with yarn; I've seen speedier dead things."

"No, but a tortoise kinda suits him; you know, steadfast, calm, long-lived …"

"Pfft, it's boring."

"Whatever Dean, it's Cas' pet and he loves it so you should respect it."

"Okay. So now I'm respecting some dim-witted, lumbering grass muncher?"

"Yes."

"Wait, just checking Sam, are we still talking about the tortoise … or you?"

xxxxx

end


	10. The Blame Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's always man enough to stand up and admit his wrongdoings. Did I say always …?

Dean had only 'borrowed' Sam's best white dress shirt so that he could impress that classy chick from the library tonight.

And it had gone well until the bolognaise incident.

Now Sam's precious shirt had a grotesque orange smudge all down the left breast pocket.

But, no problem, Dean would slip it in the washer tonight, Sam need never know.

Except that Cas had left one of his stupid ties in there …

And Dean never saw it …

And now Sam's best white shirt was a dreary faded blue …

And Dean was a dead man ...

...

...

And it was all Castiel's fault.

xxxxx

end


	11. Piece by Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's not familiar with the concept of 'too much information'; or too much of anything really ...

"After I raised you from perdition Dean, I rebuilt you; every muscle, every sinew, every bone."

"Well, thanks Cas, that's super creepy!"

"You were heaven's finest work Dean, why is that 'creepy'?"

"You and a bunch of other angel dudes seein' parts of me I've never seen? Trust me, that's creepy!"

"The blueprints are still in heaven's library, I can go and …"

"No thanks Cas."

"Anyway, while you were doing this rebuilding, couldn't you have given me an extra – you know – couple of inches?"

"But I did Dean."

"Really? I can't say I noticed."

"Oh yes. You've got the longest appendix anyone's ever seen."

xxxxx

end


	12. Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balthazar is a bohemian and a hedonist. Castiel, apparently, is not.

"Hey little brother, I bought you something for your birthday."

"Balthazar, we don't have birthdays. We angels were not born; we arose from the celestial luminescence of Father's creation."

Balthazar suddenly saw why Dean thought little brothers were so damned annoying.

"Alright, then it's an 'arising out of celestial luminescence' day gift."

Castiel regarded the massive, oddly-shaped parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied up in hairy string suspiciously.

"Balthazar, it's moving."

"And it's making noises," he added in alarm.

"Yes, about that," Balthazar replied; "I'd unwrap it quickly if I were you. I'm not sure if that paper's airtight."

Tearing away the paper in a frenzied panic, Castiel's eyes widened when the wrapping fell away to reveal Dean. Dean who was wearing only boxers and socks, gagged and tightly trussed-up in more hairy string, and was shooting a murderously furious red-faced, jaw-twitching glare at the two angels.

"B … but Balthazar."

Balthazar shook his head. "No need to thank me little brother. I've spirited him away from that giant clingy sibling of his, so you two can make beautiful human angel music together with no interruptions."

"So, I'll be getting along now. Toodle pip lovebirds."

"Balthazar!" Castiel snapped. "Release Dean now. I've never expressed a wish to …"

"But, Cassie, you love him?"

"Yes, we share a profound bond, but as friends."

"Friends? So you don't want to do the frenzied love samba and get to 'know' him better, and dance naked on the beach with him or drink champagne out of his navel?"

"No, I absolutely do not."

"HMMMMMNNGGGGAAHAH!"

Both angels looked round at the furiously squirming hunter.

"I am sorry Dean," Castiel stammered, pulling the gag away; "Balthazar thought …"

"I heard what he thought", snapped Dean; "screw you Balthazar."

Balthazar grinned.

"Oh Dean, you cad. You've broken dear little Cassie's heart!"

xxxxx

end


	13. Know It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's such a Know-it-All. Being around since the dawn of time will do that to you.

Castiel had seen the beginning.

Eons ago when the miracle of accretion gradually transformed a thousand drifting plumes of floating dust and swirling gases into that pearlescent sphere which had intrigued humans since the dawn of their time.

Personally, Castiel couldn't see the fascination; the moon held no mysteries for him.

He knew the moon wasn't made of cheese; that was silly, it would bemouldy by now, and he knew no cow had ever jumped over it.

And as for the man in the moon … his name was Brian and he was a really nice bloke. Surely everyone knew that?

xxxxx

end


	14. In the Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We join Team Free will during a quiet moment of relaxation and introspection ...

The three men lay on the windswept hillside watching the clouds scuttling overhead.

"That cloud looks like a kangaroo," Sam stated absently.

"This one looks like a pair of boobs," Dean grinned; "about 36C."

Sam rolled his eyes; "typical," he grunted.

Dean grinned; "you're only jealous!"

They turned to the trenchcoated figure lying between them.

"What do you see, Cas?"

"Uh, a condensed mass of water vapour floating in the earth's stratosphere?" the angel replied hesitantly.

Silence.

"Although it could be a flower …"

Silence.

"Or a tambourine …

Silence.

"Or a monkey in a red hat …"

"Forget it Cas," Dean grumbled; "the moment's gone."

xxxxx

end


	15. Home Maker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel could never have dreamed that having a home could lead to such an ordeal.

Castiel was broken. The angel was fallen, and flattened. His spirit crushed, his wings shattered. His grace nothing more than a smudge of flickering grey. There was no way he could go on.

He had been so elated when the Winchesters had offered him a room in the bunker; a home of his own. How could he have imagined such initial joy would lead to this utter nightmare?

Castiel groaned. He felt as empty and flat as the cardboard boxes which littered the floor around him.

Flat-pack furniture was a torment far worse than anything Crowley or Lucifer could have dreamed up.

xxxxx

end


	16. Heavenly Dancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel still thinks fondly of Jimmy Novak.

Occasionally Castiel's curiosity got the better of him, and he would take a peek into Jimmy's mind.

He knew Jimmy was a kind, God-fearing family man, but what he hadn't known until his current foray into Jimmy's memories was that Jimmy loved dancing and, along with his wife, had been a regular at local salsa groups.

It would explain, Castiel mused, how Jimmy had retained his athlete's build despite his carnivorous diet.

Losing himself in Jimmy's carefree joy, Castiel found himself beginning to sway gently to the hypnotic salsa rhythm.

Then Dean asked him if he needed to pee and completely spoiled the moment.

xxxxx

end


	17. Earth Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel spends a lot of time looking at the sky ...

Ever since he surrendered his heavenly life for his duties on Earth, Castiel had always loved looking at the sky.

He'd stand and lose himself for hours, just wistfully gazing into the ever-changing palette of the firmament, feeling the soft breezes caress his face, and finding the patterns in the clouds which tumbled and cavorted across that endless ocean of blue.

At first, he did it because it reminded him of the home and family that he had left behind in heaven and missed so dreadfully; but gradually, it came to represent something very different; a whole new family.

When he looked up at the sun, he saw Dean. Brazen and brilliant; a shining light, without which there would only be darkness; a source of life-giving warmth and energy with just a hint of danger.

When he watched those rolling, dancing clouds and felt the cool breaths of wind that they rode upon, he thought of Sam. Steadfast and coolly intellectual; a calming, rational presence; tenacious and supportive, always there to temper his brother's daring impulses.

It was the rare and beautiful sight of a rainbow that brought Castiel the most joy. He could see three souls and their unshakeable bond of family and friendship all woven together into that perfect prismatic arc. In red, orange and gold he saw Dean's fiery courage and mercurial passion; in blue, indigo and purple he saw Sam's unswerving loyalty and gently understated intelligence, and in green, he saw himself; an elemental being of nature, of innocence and of purity.

xxxxx

As he stood, gazing intently upwards, the shriek of a passing bird jolted him out of his musings momentarily, a split second before something warm and wet hit him square in the forehead.

Ah yes, and then there was that ...

That was when he thought of Crowley.

xxxxx

end


	18. Cooking Up Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is only trying to help, but Dean doesn't appreciate his efforts.

"Sam, what's happening in my kitchen?"

"Your kitchen?"

"And the last time you cooked was …?"

"Okay, point taken. Well, Cas bought a cookbook last week, so he's making us a special meal from it."

"Cas? Cooking? My stomach's cramping just at the thought! Hey, he'd better not be making a mess in there. I deep cleaned it last week."

"Dean, he's only trying to help."

"Hmmmm…"

"I'll just check it out; you know, casual, like."

*sigh* "Whatever."

"Hi Cas, I … HOLY FREAKING ASSHOLES! My eyes! MY EYES!"

"Sam, that book he bought? Wouldn't happen to be 'The Naked Chef' would it?"

xxxxx

end


	19. Compliments to the Chef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean are prepared to go above and beyond to encourage newly-human Cas on his difficult journey through humanity. Of course, 'above and beyond' is open to interpretation ...

"But Sam, there's ash floating around the kitchen."

"Yes, I know, but …"

"It's supposed to be a Hawaiian pizza, it looks more like something from Hiroshima."

"Dean. Cas cooked this. He's trying so hard. He's never used an oven or cooked before; he's never even eaten before. Now he's human, he's got to learn all that stuff. So cut him some slack, ok?"

*sigh* "ok."

"Besides, while he went for a shower, I ordered an x-large Hawaiian from Pizza Palace downtown, express delivery, and slipped that in the oven. You don't think I'm eating this lump of carbonized crap, do you?"

xxxxx

end


	20. Clueless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing like a family board game after Christmas dinner. There's always that one knowall, though ...

"Okay Sam, It's Professor Plum in the Library with the Lead Pipe."

"Dean, why would anyone commit murder with a length of lead piping in a library?"

"What are you talking about, Cas?"

"I am enquiring as to the wisdom of carrying a heavy and impractical length of lead piping, which is hazardous to human health, into a library for the purpose of dispatching someone, when you could easily do so with a well-aimed copy of 'War and Peace' ..."

"Damnit Cas, it's no great shakes; it's only a stupid game."

"… You would think a Professor could work that out for himself."

"Sam, pass the Whisky. NOW."

xxxxx

end


	21. Clarence Nightingale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When angels watch over you, they learn all sorts of interesting things.
> 
> Possible slight spoilers for 5.13 - The Song Remains the Same

"Hello Dean."

"Hey *cough cough* Cas."

"Are you feeling any better?"

"No, Cas, not in the five minutes since you were *sniff* last in here asking me if I felt better."

"shall I plump your pillows again?"

"No, Cas, *wheeze* they're fine."

"Sam has gone out to get you some more Tylenol. While he is out, I cooked you some tomato rice soup, with a swirl of cream and a dash of pepper, just as you like it."

"Gee thanks Cas, that's … that's *cough* awesome."

"You are welcome."

…

…

"Would you like me to sing Hey Jude too?"

"Go away Cas."

xxxxx

end


	22. Clam Catastrophe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's a helpless spectator as the brothers are suffering.

There were times when Castiel was glad he didn't have to concern himself with the fuss and bother of eating and drinking.

And right now, as he wandered helplessly around the bunker, experiencing the assault on the senses that was the aftermath of Dean's first – and very likely last – attempt at cooking Clam Chowder for himself and Sam, this was one of those times.

The sheer fetid gruesomeness of the situation, made Castiel so very, very thankful that he had no requirement for sustenance.

And right now, not needing to use the bathroom?

There weren't words to adequately express his relief.

xxxxx

end


	23. Bigger Is Not Always Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's prank on Castiel is a 'growing' concern
> 
> Inspired by episode 11.11, although not based on it, so could be classed as a vague spoiler.

"Sam, we've got a problem."

"We?"

"Yeah."

"What?"

"Well, remember that poltergeist job at the pharmacy in Mulvane last month?"

"Yeee-es …"

"Well, there were these tablets and … well, they just kinda fell into my pocket."

"What sort of tablets?"

"uh, Viagra."

"Dean!"

*shrug* "Well, then this morning I sorta slipped one in Castiel's juice at Breakfast. You know, for a joke."

*facepalm* "You gave an angel Viagra?"

"Yeah."

"And this is 'our' problem why?"

"Sam, Dean, where are you? My halo keeps getting bigger and bigger. If it swells up any more it will explode and incinerate the entire bunker."

"That's why, Sam."

xxxxx

end


	24. Beach Bum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel doesn't quite 'get' the whole beach thing, but he's learning ...

Standing in the chest-deep water, Castiel watched the Winchesters horsing around in the surf beside him.

Jumping through the waves and splashing around, they laughed and bantered. Dean threw the brothers' hastily purchased 'minions' beach ball at Sam's head and Sam retaliated by dunking him.

Castiel couldn't understand why simply by immersing themselves in a massive expanse of cold, undrinkable water, the Winchesters were suddenly energised and full of glee when they were usually so pensive; crushed by the pressure of their lives.

But he would learn, and join in the Winchesters' fun.

Maybe he would start by taking his trenchcoat off.

xxxxx

end


	25. All God's Creatures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even angels don't love ALL God's creatures.  
> Warning: Biblical reference used in a facetious manner. If you are offended by this sort of thing, please don't read.

Hearing an outraged squawk, the Winchesters turned to see Castiel in the doorway, thrashing and writhing in a most unangelic manner. Either he was in training for the All-America Drunk-Dad-Dancing Championships, or he was having a seizure. Either way, it was a disturbing vision.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean ventured, approaching the flailing angel.

"I walked through a spider-ugh-web," Castiel snorted, huffing away a gossamer thread stuck to his nose.

"My father made the world and on the seventh day he rested," he grumbled; "I swear on the eighth day he got up with a hangover and made stupid, assbutting spiders!"

xxxxx

end


	26. A New Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel really should consult the Winchesters before he makes any big decisions.

The Winchesters stood open-mouthed, staring at the vision before them from his blue buzz-cut and nose-stud, down over his Megadeth T-shirt, obscenely tight stonewashed jeans which seemed to be composed more of holes than of denim, down to his Doc Martin boots.

Sam rubbed his brow in exasperation, Dean looked like he was about to be sick.

Eventually, it was Dean that found his tongue.

"Cas," he groaned.

"Yeah," the angel replied around the gum he was chewing.

"Cas, when you were talking about changing your image," Dean sighed; "I thought you were just gonna buy a new coat!"

xxxxx

end


	27. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel reflects on his life and the most important thing in it

Life as an angel was very simple. There was no place for instinct or intuition; no need for nuance or interpretation. There was simple black and white; yes and no; good and evil; obey or disobey.

Back then, I was a warrior of God; a soldier, and blind, unquestioning obedience was a given. It wasn't my place to question, or think. So I didn't.

None of us did.

When I received the order to take the Heavenly garrison and storm Hell to locate and rescue the righteous man, I did so without pause.

To invade Hell, to scythe a deadly swathe through cringing hordes of infernal minions was any Angel's dream. And I lived that dream with zealous fury. My onslaught was brutal and absolute, and utterly without pity.

I was so lost in my murderous glee, the rescue of the righteous man was almost an afterthought.

When I eventually reached him, desecrated and broken, I felt nothing. No sympathy, no pity; I couldn't even find it within myself to feel contempt for this destroyed, ruined figure. His emancipation was just another part of my commission; to reclaim the righteous man – the last hope of mankind.

Why should I care about mankind? All I cared about was my mission.

It was just another empty command; an order which had to be followed, a dirty job which had to be done. It was just another mission which was undertaken out of loyalty and obedience, and as ever before, there would be no thanks and no reward.

Except that this time there was.

But those thanks didn't come from above, and the reward didn't come from heaven.

The thanks came from the righteous man himself. They came in the form of trust and acceptance. They showed in the righteous man's support for me as Heaven was falling into turmoil in the absence of our father. They continued to show in his complete lack of judgement at my many blunders and misunderstandings as I trod the precarious path between Heaven and humanity.

The reward was something so precious and pure, that an angel's grace couldn't possibly compare It was something I and no other angel had ever been gifted with before.

It was the gift of friendship.

Now the black and white has gone away. My life is a rainbow of colours, confusing and wonderful. A spectrum of beautiful chaos and glorious uncertainty; the adventure of learning to live among humans, understanding a million vagaries of human behaviour, and above all, discovering that heaven isn't the place that I always knew it to be.

Now I know, Heaven is wherever my friend is.

xxxxx

end


	28. It's Coffee Dean, But Not As We Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little bit of silliness I wrote for the Spn-BigPretzel Outsider POV Comment-Fic Challenge over on LiveJournal.
> 
> The prompt I filled was: 'Cas attempts to order Starbucks for the first time. Dean has requested "black coffee" for himself and "some of that frothy shit" for Sam'.

It's been a slow day in my role as 'Head Barista' here at Marty's Bean Shack, 'the best coffee in town' so far, but I've got a feeling that it's about to liven up immensely as three of the hottest guys I've ever set eyes on have just walked into the store. I can feel myself standing to attention as a really tall man with long silky hair that I'd kill for, and a slightly shorter guy with spiky, sandy-coloured hair and a face, dear lord, a face that could get me pregnant just by smiling at me, go and sit down at a nearby table.

That leaves the third man. He's quite slight compared to the other two, with a shock of untidy black hair and the bluest eyes I've ever seen … and he's walking straight toward me.

Okay, customer service; here we go …

"Hey there sir, how can I help you?"

The guy's shapely, dark brows knot as he fumbles in the pocket of this god-awful beige trenchcoat he appears to be swimming in and deposits a fistful of coins onto the counter.

"Good morning, I would like some coffees please."

His speech is quite stilted, hesitant; looks like I gotta shy one here.

"Certainly," I'm trying to keep my voice light and friendly; "we do a wide range of coffees to suit all tastes; is that just flat whites you'd like?"

I can see him pause in thought for a moment, as if it's a difficult question. His eyes are boring into mine, like they're trying to see inside my head. Holy hell, they're as blue as the ocean.

Eventually he responded to my question; "no, I would like one large, strong, black, extra hot for Dean please."  
I nod attentitively as I write down his order.

"Then I would like one – did you say – flat white, large and with sugar, for me please."

I nod again, to prompt him to continue.

"And, then some of that frothy shit that Sam likes," he finished his order without missing a beat.

I inwardly congratulate myself for not choking on the tip of the pencil that I'm chewing, as I look back into his face which is completely neutral, gazing expectantly at me. Over his shoulder, I can see the sandy-haired guy sniggering into his hand, completely ignoring the tall dude who's giving him an epic stink-eye.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and my gaze returns to my customer whose expression has taken on a slightly bemused look. He nudges the coins toward me with his fingertips.

"There are sufficient funds here, I counted them myself," he reassures me.

I school my face into the warmest smile I can manage; "I'm sure there is, I just need to be a bit more, um, specific, on your last order." Gesturing toward the menu, I try to help the poor guy along; "did you mean a cappuccino?" I ask as kindly as I can whilst trying not to bust out laughing at the shenanigans going on behind him.

"Is it frothy?" he asks?

"Yes," I reassure him; "very frothy."

He nods, a satisfied smile spreading over his face; "yes, then I would like one of those for Sam, large please."

"Certainly," I smile, scribbling 'large cappuccino' on my pad.

"And he would like you to remove any caffeine from it please," he added.

I have no idea who this guy is or where he's been; he may well have just flown in on a nuclear banana from the planet freakout for all I know. But, what can I say? He sure is darn cute!

"Uh, yeah, I can do that," I reply economically; I'm not sure I'm up to going into the technicalities of decaf coffee right now.

"Thank you, you're very kind," he smiles with genuine relief, and there it is. Strange little weirdo he might be, but who couldn't fall in love with that smile?

I turn, about to start work on making the coffees, when shy-guy's familiar voice pipes up.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Sam would like syrup in his cappu-chin-yo."

"Uh, okay," I sigh, turning back toward him, "what flavour would he like?"

His face fell into a disappointed frown; "I do not know," he mumbled.

"Well, we have vanilla, raspberry, chocolate, hazelnut, almond, coconut, butterscotch, ginger, orange and bubblegum," I list our flavours, counting on my fingers as I go; "which one do you think your friend would like?"

xxxxx

Well, I was right; this will officially go down as one of my more memorable days at work.

I watched as the cute, but odd, guy proudly carried the three coffees back to the table and sat down with his friends. The sandy-haired dude looked up and gave me a smile and a wink that together cranked the temperature in the shop up a good ten degrees.

As I stood, and waited, I had a feeling this wasn't over yet.

"HOLY CRAP…BLEEURGH, CAS, WHAT THE HELL…?"

Yep, I was right - again.

I did suggest that he asked 'Sam' what he wanted, but cute shy guy was adamant he wanted to prove to his friends that he knew what he was doing. And who am I to argue?

The customer is always right.

Even when they can't make their mind up which syrup they want, so they ask for one squirt of all of them.

xxxxx

end


	29. Personal Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Castiel gets it wrong again. Dean gets cross. Sam gets pizza.

An aimless drive across country while Sam fruitlessly researched their next hunt ended at dusk in some utterly forgettable one-horse burg at the arse end of nowhere. Both brothers were hot, irritable and the bickering that had been going on for several hours continued as they unlocked the door to their catsick green room.

Dean dropped his duffel on the floor and engaged Sam in a measured debate about first use of the shower.

"I'm getting first shower, big brother privilege; so suck it up Princess".

He grinned his carefully calculated most annoying grin, the one he reserved exclusively for Sammy, and slammed the bathroom door behind him with an undeniable sense of smug satisfaction.

Sam stood glowering at the bathroom door as the words "get pizza" were fired at him from behind it. He wondered what he had done in a past life that deserved the penance of being the younger sibling to the worlds oldest nine-year-old. He let his duffel drop from his hand onto the floor, and turned huffily on his heel back outside muttering threats involving Dean's pizza and his own bodily fluids. As he wandered off the motel forecourt, he shook his head and sighed; What's the point? Dean would probably still eat it anyway.

xxxxx

The bathroom was steadily filling with steam and from behind a mould-stained shower curtain, the hiss of pouring water played out a backdrop to an echoey and very loud rendition of 'Highway to Hell'; a hitherto unknown version where melody appeared to be nothing more than an optional extra.

The first outward sign of the angel's arrival was a slight flutter to the bottom of the shower curtain. "I'm on a hiiiiiiighway to hell, don't s-s-SON OF A BITCH!" was the second; the tuneless baritone climbing to a violently falsetto squeak. The casual observer would have seen a wet, bare arm aggressively shove the soaked and oblivious angel backwards through the shower curtain, his face a picture of sublime bewilderment even as the flying bottle of "Stud" shower gel bounced off his forehead.

The hand attached to the same arm groped blindly around the side of the shower curtain for a towel.

"Towel, Cas, NOW" came the voice.

Castiel passed a towel from the nearby rail to the hand which disappeared back behind the curtain.

Seconds later there was a muttered oath and the towel followed the shower gel on an ariel path to Castiel's face.

"Bigger towel" came the voice again with a hint of exasperation.

Castiel passed a noticeably bigger towel to the arm which once again appeared around the curtain.

Eventually, the shower curtain was flung back with a metallic tinkle and Dean's soaked towel wrapped figure stood under the dripping rail glaring green daggers at the sodden angel.

"What part of personal freakin' space don't you understand?" he growled.

"my apologies" replied Castiel calmly as water dripped off the end of his nose, "I did not know you were partaking of your ablutions".

"partake … abloo … WHAT?"

Castiel cocked his head in that endearingly bemused way of his, "it is clearly not convenient - I will come back another time"

"You do that", snarked Dean, maintaining his death grip on his towel.

xxxxx

The evening had passed quietly and amiably, and both brothers sat on their beds, sated by pizza, chocolate and beer, both absent-mindedly watching a game that neither of them had much interest in. "Gotta go" huffed Dean; four bottles of beer will do that to a man; he slid inelegantly off the side of the bed and padded barefoot to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the can, and after a protracted exercise in unbuttoning his fly, he began to take care of business.

"Dean"

From his bed, Sam didn't see the golden stream hit the ceiling, but he did hear the yelp, "SON OF A … !"

xxxxx

end


	30. The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only ever one.

Castiel knew right away.

He knew from the moment he stormed Hell that this was the one; the righteous man.

Even through the acrid smoke and choking miasma of Hell's infernal depths, Castiel could see it.

Far away through the chaos and fury, it was there; a soft glow that flickered and seethed like dying embers. The faintest of lights within the dark and twisted travesty that the righteous man had been forced to become.

The shimmering shreds of a good and honourable soul.

Castiel fought his way toward that soul.

He grasped the righteous man and raised him from perdition.

xxxxx

end


	31. The Mind of An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely spoilery for end season 8/beginning season 9. During a long car journey, Castiel has something on his mind; no-one can presume to know what's on the mind of an angel.

The Winchesters stared over the roof of the parked Impala at newly-human Castiel standing a little way from them, staring wistfully into the heavens; his pale visage bathed ivory in the moonlight. He stood, still and solid as stone, save for the night breezes playing around him.

"It must be tough on him," Sam murmured; "seeing his home so far away up there, so out of reach."

Dean nodded sympathetically; "good view from here; must be why he wanted to stop the car so suddenly."

Meanwhile, Castiel sighed, glancing back to the Impala.

Being human sucked.

And motion-sickness sucked balls!

xxxxx

end


	32. The Human Condition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big, BIG spoilers for the end of Season 8; this is my own little wish for season 9. Castiel reflects on one very important aspect of his new life.

Castiel had learned a lot about being human in a very short time.

For instance, he'd learned that stubbing your toe was eye-wateringly painful, shaving was harder than it looked, morning breath made you unpopular and nothing tasted better than bacon.

He'd also learned that when you're hopelessly lost, a map and a good knowledge of swear words were essential.

He'd found out that finding some secluded glade in which to sit and meditate, reflecting on your situation was fine; but that meditation counted for absolutely squat when you accidentally sat on an anthill.

But above it all there was one, far more valuable, lesson.

He thought of the Winchesters, how they had forgiven his past mistakes; how, when he was utterly vulnerable and of no real use to them, they had still taken him in, accepted him, protected him and cared for him. They called him their friend.

Angels preached constantly about love and goodwill to all men but Castiel now knew that none of them had ever understood or experienced the miracle of friendship.

Suddenly he pitied his own kin. Now he knew it wasn't through angels or heaven that you found the path to paradise.

It was through friends.

xxxxx

end


	33. Snow Angel

It was odd.

Snow was only precipitation of atmospheric moisture as crystalline water ice. There was nothing magical or romantic about it, but that didn't stop people wanting to throw it about or roll around in it, or construct figures from it.

Humans didn't exhibit such behaviour in rain, or sleet, or hail - in fact they seemed to prefer staying well away from those sorts of conditions. Yet, it only took a flurry of snowflakes for a temporary madness to descend over humankind.

You could almost say it made them 'flaky'.

Heehee ...

Whoever said angels have no sense of humour?

xxxxx

Even the Winchesters weren't immune to the mysterious charm of snow, as evidenced by the fact that they were currently cavorting around in the sparkling white drifts outside the bunker, and whooping with ruddy-faced, wet-nosed delight as they hurled snowballs at each other.

"Hey Cas," Dean yelled, suddenly; "watch this, I'm gonna make a snow angel."

Castiel reflected as he watched Dean tumble backwards into the snow, sweeping arms and legs forming a familiar angel outline; this was something else he just didn't understand.

Surely Dean had known him long enough now to know that he'd never worn a dress.

xxxxx

end


	34. Schadenfreude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staying in the Batcave with the Winchesters, Castiel learns more about being human every day.

Castiel glanced up through the morning sunlight from his book.

"It says here that humans find pleasure in others' misfortune; a phenomenon called schadenfreude."

"Yeah," Sam replied, sipping his coffee; "it's funny sometimes."

"I think it's unkind," Castiel muttered disapprovingly.

They paused as Dean appeared; sleep-muzzed face stretched into a yawn which was abruptly interrupted by the crunch of toe against doorframe.

Choking out agonised curses, he hopped around clutching the throbbing digit and glared at the onlookers through eyes brimming with tears of pained indignation.

Then he faceplanted over the rug.

Castiel's face twitched; "thank you Dean, I understand now."

xxxxx

end


	35. Doctor Castiel Will See You Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel still has a lot to learn about humans.

"Holy crap."

Sam almost dropped the spoon he was stirring Dean's soup with as Castiel stumbled into the bunker's kitchen clutching a bloody nose.

"What happened to you?"

"Dean is still feeling very unwell," the angel snuffled; "not his old self."

"He punched you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I do not know. I only went into his room to ascertain his temperature, as you requested."

"And he punched you for that?"

Castiel nodded glumly. "At first he seemed compliant," the angel sighed; "not unduly violent."

Sam nodded hesitantly.

"It was only when I asked him to bend over that it all went wrong."

xxxxx

end


	36. An Angel's Guide to Partying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for birthday challenge prompt over on Livejournal. The prompt was: "I went to…'s birthday party, and I took…"
> 
> Castiel's POV. I went to Dean's birthday party and I took a lot of time and effort to make it a very special experience …

I received an invitation to Dean's birthday party.

I am very honoured and excited because I have never attended a birthday celebration before.

I have, therefore, been researching the correct procedure at length, and I believe I am now fully prepared to extract the most enjoyment out of the occasion, whilst at the same time paying appropriate tribute to my bond of friendship with Dean on his most special day.

I believe that it is customary to take a birthday card to give to the host of the party. My research suggests that it should be something that reflects the personality of the recipient by depicting images that make them happy.

However, I have been searching for many, many hours now, and as yet I have been unsuccessful in locating a birthday card that includes images of black Chevrolet Impalas, naked asian ladies with ample breasts and pies.

When I asked the serving lady behind the counter in the thirty-ninth store I visited, I sensed discomfort; particularly when I showed her a picture from Dean's favourite porn website to provide an example of my requirements.

Still, the security guard who removed me from the store seemed to be very happy when I wrote down the website address for him.

Eventually, I settled on a card with a picture of a grey rabbit in a hat. I don't know why, but I think it would make Dean smile.

As well as a birthday card, I read that it is necessary to purchase a birthday gift to take along to the festivities. This has proven even more challenging than selecting the card. I thought that I had conceived an idea of a perfect gift for Dean, however there do not appear to be any companies that I can locate that hire naked asian ladies riding in black Chevrolet Impalas to deliver cherry pies to people who are celebrating birthdays.

Having said that, there was a naked lady on one website I happened across that did something very unusual with a cherry pie, but I did not know if Dean would appreciate this – and even if Dean did, Sam CERTAINLY wouldn't.

I have made the decision to purchase Dean some beer instead. I do not know how the ratio of number of bottles to level of friendship works. I hope one hundred bottles will be sufficient.

In addition to the gift, I understand that a birthday cake is an essential component of a birthday party. I have heard Dean say, in a disparaging tone, that cake is not the same as pie, so I have decided to give Dean a birthday pie. I have also heard that it shows true friendship and devotion to make, rather than purchase a gift. I therefore decided to bake Dean's pie myself.

I think it will look much more appetising once all the smoke has cleared.

As it is a birthday pie, I decided to write a message on it in white icing. This is more difficult than it looks. My pie currently bears the message 'Harpy Bitchday Bean.' I'm sure Dean will understand the sentiment behind it.

I will also need to locate a candle to adorn it with; perhaps the local church will allow me to use one of theirs.

So, I have a birthday card, a birthday gift and a birthday cake, well, pie. I have spent time to ensure that I am appropriately attired. Now I am ready to attend Dean's birthday party.

Later ...

*knock knock*

"Oh, hey Cas, thanks for comi … UH?"

"Hello Dean."

"Sam, for Chrissakes, fetch a blanket! Cas, we really need to talk about what you think 'birthday suit' means."

xxxxx

end


	37. A Fun Guy To Be With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel only wants to help, really he does.

Irritably threading his fingers through his increasingly unkempt hair, Sam pushed his plate of salad away as he sat back and stared across the Batcave's enormous dining table to Dean sitting opposite him, slumped face down in his plate and snoring wetly and very contentedly into a puddle of baked beans.

He turned to the third figure at their dinner table; intense blue eyes gazed nervously back at him.

"Cas," he sighed; "it's not that I don't appreciate you cooking for us because, really, I do; but where the hell did you get those mushrooms you put in Dean's omelette?"

xxxxx

end


	38. The Joy of Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always that one friend who's difficult to buy for.

"Dean, what should we get Cas for Christmas?"

"Socks?"

"Damnit Dean, we've got him socks every year; let's try to show some imagination."

"Okay, what about booze?"

"He's an angel – he doesn't drink."

"Skin mags?"

"Dean, really? He's a freaking angel!"

"I know! What about a harp?"

"What?"

"You said yourself, he's an angel! All angels play harps."

"When have you ever seen Cas playing a goddamn harp?"

"That's 'cause he hasn't got one!"

"Do you really wanna sit here in the bunker listening to Cas plinking and plonking and strumming a frigging harp all day and night?"

"Hmmm …"

"Socks it is then."

xxxxx

end


	39. Let There Be Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's one job at Christmas everyone hates - how nice if you can offload it to a willing victim ...
> 
> WARNING: F-BOMBS GALORE!

"Goddamnit to Hell Fuck Fucking Fuck!"

"Of all the … fucking damn and hellfire fucking FUCK!"

"Uh Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is Castiel alright?"

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck – you stupid piece of SHIT!"

*shrugs* "yeah, why?"

"Why?"

"OH FUCKING HELL!"

"Dean, what's with the language? It's kind of extreme for Castiel, don't you think?"

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"

*grins*

"Dean … what did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Dean …?"

"Well, I might have just told him that as he's a permanent resident here at the bunker now, this year it's his turn to untangle the Christmas tree lights …"

"OH I FUCKING GIVE UP!" *sob*

"Dean, I think you broke our angel."

xxxxx

end


	40. Couch Potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not having to sleep when the Winchester do, affords Castiel a lot of free time ...

Castiel found he rather enjoyed watching TV.

The temporary gratification brought by watching ten people sitting in a house, drinking, swearing and fornicating with each other, or a bunch of rednecks arguing over who'd fathered their seventeen children and taking ineffectual swipes at each other with their fat, tattooed fists, was curiously satisfying.

Night after night, he positively devoured Dr Sexy MD, Sex and the City and Desperate Housewives.

And of course, who could possibly forget the Pizza Man?

It was truly educational.

He vowed to do something about the boring TV in Heaven when he eventually had to go home.

xxxxx

end


	41. By The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely spoilery for Season 9. Newly-human Castiel takes Dean's advice. The brothers sort of wish he hadn't.

The brothers peered round the doorframe into the Bunker's cavernous library where Castiel sat in rapt concentration, turning the stiff vellum pages of one of the library's antique books.

"Dean," Sam sighed; "remember you told Castiel that he could learn about human interaction by reading books?"

"Don't remind me," snorted Dean; "he's been wishing me happy unbirthday every day after reading Alice through the Looking-Glass."

"And then he was all angsty and maudlin after reading Hamlet," added Sam.

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Well, I don't want to worry you or anything," Sam whispered; "but he's reading Lady Chatterley's Lover now."

xxxxx

end


	42. Home Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's expected to make himself useful while he's staying with the Winchesters. Doesn't mean he has to enjoy it though!

Castiel was an Angel of the Lord; an ageless, celestial being of omnipotent power and luminescent magnificence.

So why, then, was he stuck here at the bunker doing the Winchesters' laundry while they were out on the road, swanning around saving people and hunting things?

Methodically rooting through the laundry basket, he folded up a pile of freshly dried smalls, trying to match up odd socks and untangle a knot of threadbare boxers, sighing with relief as he reached the bottom of the pile.

But he had no idea how that pair of pink satin panties got in there.

xxxxx

en


	43. First Time for Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel tries something for the very first time. It doesn't end well.

It was really quite pitiful to behold.

Castiel sat opposite them; those familiar, profoundly sad blue eyes staring out from a face criss-crossed with drying smears of tomato sauce.

His rumpled trenchcoat was equally adorned with pink spatters and his tousled black hair, similarly coated, was jauntily topped with a sprig of limp parsley.

He blinked as a string of pasta dropped off the end of his nose into his lap.

In hindsight, the Winchesters thought, it was probably a spectacularly bad idea to let Castiel order spaghetti bolognaise for his first ever attempt at dining out.

xxxxx

end


	44. No Greater Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great big scary spoilers for 4.01 – Lazarus Rising. Castiel reflects on his successful mission.

He had stormed Hell furiously, exterminating swarms of infernal minions, scything through the demonic rank-and-file like a sabre through flesh.

His onslaught, brutal and absolute, was all for one man; this desecrated, ruined figure laying cradled in his arms.

The righteous man; the last hope of mankind.

Gripping his charge tight, he watched the bleeding wreckage of a flayed chest rising through a sigh as his grace began its work; mending, rebuilding and healing.

Castiel had undertaken his mission out of loyalty and obedience with no expectation of reward.

Instead he found Dean's friendship ...

There could be no greater reward.

xxxxx

end


	45. From Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Spn-BigPretzel Spring Fic Exchange over on Livejournal. the prompt was 'Dean gets worked over pretty badly by a demon/windigo/etc. and has to let Cas drive the car. Cas wrecks Baby.'
> 
> Spoilers: Cas is newly-human, so non-specific spoilers for season 9.

In hindsight, it hadn't been one of Dean's best ideas.

He sort of felt bad leaving Sam back at the bunker. I mean the guy had been ill, really, really, horribly, gut-wrenchingly, firing-on-all-cylinders (literally) ill. He must have picked up some kind of stomach flu, or happened across a rogue prawn or something; but that was also kind of why Dean wanted to get out of the bunker. No correct that, Dean HAD to get out of the bunker, because … well, air freshener can only do so much.

It was a wendigo hunt, only fifty miles away; piece of cake. Quick, close, easy. Compared to Sam's innards right now, even getting up close and personal with wendigo seemed a refreshingly fragrant diversion.

Of course, Sam hadn't been happy. He'd bitched and whined relentlessly to Dean, and then he'd moved on to whining and bitching because Dean clearly hadn't got the message.

Then he threw up all over Dean's feet.

That was when Castiel had offered to join Dean. In an effort to keep the peace between the Winchesters, he'd offered himself up as security and back-up on Dean's little excursion. He would be an extra pair of hands to help Dean in a fight and an extra pair of eyes to watch his back. He may be human now, but he had been a warrior of God after all; that had to count for something, right?

So why was it then, that six hours later, Dean found himself sitting here on top of a heap of charred wendigo remains with four deep gashes carved across his chest, a split lip and a very swollen and very broken wrist.

Warrior of God? My peachy-sweet ass! God needs to find himself some better freakin' warriors.

For his part, Castiel was busy clucking and fussing around Dean, watching him intently with those soulful blue eyes and that constipated frown that he always wore when he thought he'd made a mistake.

And if he said 'sorry' one more time … broken wrist or not, Dean was going to start swinging.

xxxxx

Once they had assessed the damage and cleared up as best they could, they set about getting Dean back to the bunker, to comfort, safety and security - notwithstanding Sam's fractious guts.

Together the two men limped back toward the Impala. Dutifully supporting the grumbling hunter, with an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, Castiel held Dean steady while taking care not to jostle the stiffening and darkening arm that Dean cradled gingerly against his wounded chest using his bloodstained button down as a makeshift sling.

"Freakin' Sam's going to throw a bitch fit," Dean growled breathlessly; "He'll take great delight in telling me he told me so. Over and over again."

"I am so sorry," Castiel sighed; "it was too fast. I have not become accustomed to how slow my human body is. When you are used to moving as an elemental particle of quantum energy, running seems surprisingly laborious."

Dean sighed, grimacing as the gashes across his chest protested at the motion. "I get that Cas', I do," he nodded; "but what did you have to wear the goddamn trenchcoat for?"

Castiel shrugged miserably; "I feel naked without it."

"Okay," snorted Dean; "there's a mental image I could do without."

"I'm sorry you tripped over it Dean," Castiel added meekly; "I did not intend for that to happen. The wendigo pulled it off me so rapidly, I had no time to pick it up before you tripped over it.

It was a long, slow trek back to the Impala, not helped by the fact that darkness was closing in. Their struggle against the Wendigo had taken them a good two miles further on than where their hunt had started, and exhaustion together with the chill that had begun to settle along with the darkness, made their progress uncomfortable and arduous.

With one arm trussed up in his makeshift sling, and the other holding the wadded mass of Castiel's stupid trenchcoat pressed against his wound in an attempt to slow down the bleeding, Dean was reliant on the erstwhile angel's over-enthusiastic, desperate-to-help, touchy-feely support to maintain his shaky balance through the gloom. Hell, the guy had no concept of personal space; getting down with the wendigo was no big deal compared to this.

When the clean, beautiful lines of the Impala eventually appeared in the distance through the deepening murk, Dean felt dizzy with relief.

That was until a dawning realisation fell upon him; how the hell does a man with a broken wrist drive?

The simple answer is: he doesn't.

Eyes swivelling forlornly between the Impala and Castiel's benign face which gazed back at him with that freakin' dewy 'how can I be of assistance, Dean' look on it, Dean let out a miserable sigh.

He turned back to the Impala, his shoulders slumping with resignation; he could have sworn that if she'd had a head, she would have been shaking it at him.

"Don't you dare," she muttered wordlessly.

"I'm so sorry baby," Dean groaned under his breath; "I'll make it up to you soon, I promise!"

He took a deep breath. "Cas," he mumbled, clumsily fumbling the Impala's keys out of his jacket pocket with his one good arm and handing them to Castiel; "you're gonna have to drive," he stated economically.

Castiel nodded; "yes, of course Dean. I have practiced my driving since being human; I think I am quite good at it now."

Dean nodded, looking distinctly unconvinced.

"Dean, I'm so…"

"Don't freakin' say it,"

xxxxx

Slumped into the Impala's passenger seat, Dean cringed; his heart sinking rapidly as Castiel hesitantly stabbed the keys into the Impala's ignition, stalling her twice before finally managing to settle her protesting engine into a softly grumbling cadence that seemed to reflect Dean's thoughts on the matter.

With a pained crunch, he wrestled her into reverse, trying three times to pull back before Dean yelled a colourful reminder to him that he'd left the parking brake on.

If Dean had had the angel blade on him right at that moment …

xxxxx

After the initial dramas, Castiel had managed to get himself, the Impala and his bruised and bleeding passenger to within a mile of the bunker; and largely without incident, Dean was pleased to note. Castiel seemed to have an inexplicable talent for finding pot-holes to drive over, leaving Dean making a mental note to check the Impala's suspension if they actually managed to complete this journey without further incident.

So of course, that's when it happened; a further incident.

Dean felt the Impala swerve violently before he saw the flash of brown as the deer ran across the road in front of them. Lurching sideways, he cannoned into Castiel's side as the desperate angel yanked the steering wheel round, first one way, then the other, blue eyes wide with panic as he mouthed his shocked exclamations. Whoever would have thought that an angel knew such language? The Impala careened sideways, skidding at a queasy angle across the highway before she mounted the grass verge alongside them, crunching gruesomely into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Dean groaned. Intense pain shot through his damaged arm which had been at various times during the brief episode been embedded in Castiel's ribs, face and somewhere else Dean wasn't even going to think about, and he felt the warmth of fresh blood seeping sluggishly through the barely healing welts across his chest, sharply reopened by the snatch of the seatbelt.

For a moment, the only sound apart from the creak of settling metal was the heavy breaths of the Impala's two shocked occupants.

"What the hell d'you do that for?" Dean yelled, glaring furiously at his mortified driver.

Castiel's blue eyes radiated shame; he looked like a naughty puppy who'd had his face rubbed in it.

"It was one of God's creatures Dean," he murmured sheepishly; "I could not see it harmed."

"I'm one of God's creatures," Dean hissed, cradling his throbbing arm; you don't seem to mind seeing me get my freakin' ass kicked six ways to Sunday!"

Castiel shrunk down into the Impala's leather upholstery under the weight of Dean's glare.

"Dean, I'm so …"

"DON'T freakin' say it," Dean snapped. "I swear, if you've damaged my baby; angel or not, I will find your grace and shove it where even heaven won't be able to find it."

The pained creaking of fractured metal didn't bode well for Castiel's future wellbeing.

xxxxx

After an hour's painful manoeuvring, scraping, pulling, pushing and a protracted exercise in trying to find reverse gear, Castiel had managed to start the Impala and reverse her back onto the highway. With Dean's unique brand of encouragement (which mainly involved a threat to pluck Castiel's wings and stuff the feathers up his ass), they managed to limp the final few hundred yards back to the bunker.

Coughing a spluttering, she chugged agriculturally along the road at a walking pace, listing on a flat tyre, with the steam spewing from her fractured radiator obscuring their vision.

Behind them, they could hear the intermittent tinkle of random components falling off her and littering the road behind them like a trail of breadcrumbs.

"I am really so sorry De…"

"Shuddup!"

xxxxx

The bunker door swung open and the two men stumbled through into its shadowy depths. Desperate to redeem himself, Castiel fussed and fretted over his friend and was largely ignored for his trouble.

Placing a supporting hand in the small of Dean's back, he gestured down the staircase.

"I know the frickin' way," growled Dean, easing his way down the stairs slowly and carefully.

Castiel sighed; "I'm really …"

Dean's returning glare was enough to wither his vocal cords and consign him to silence.

Gingerly pulling out a chair, Dean slumped into it, leaning on the great wooden table, and dropping his head into his good hand.

Castiel stood beside him helplessly. It's not every day a man breaks both their friend and their car; Castiel really wasn't entirely sure of the required etiquette in such a situation, so he resorted to fussing over Dean again.

"You need to splint that arm," He mumbled; "and cleanse that wound."

"Whatever," Dean grumbled without looking Castiel in the eye; his voice muffled into the palm of his hand; "I've had worse - I'll live."

"Are you hungry?" Castiel tried another tack.

Dean grunted non-committally in response.

It wasn't a denial, so Castiel took that as his cue to escape from the suffocating atmosphere of Dean's fury with him and prepare some food.

Dean let out a sigh as Castiel went. What on earth was Dean thinking? Taking Castiel out on a hunt with him? The dude's feathery ass was as much use as a fart in a tornado. He should have waited until Sam was better. Now Baby was broken, Dean was a goddamned useless one-armed bandit so couldn't fix her and Sam would be revelling in sanctimonious 'I-knew-best' heaven for the foreseeable future.

Right at that moment, Dean knew that his life totally sucked.

On the subject of Sam … Dean chanced to look up. No sign of him; he must still be resting up. The atmosphere within the bunker didn't seem quite as toxic as it did before, but this stomach flu, food poisoning, whatever the hell it was – must have really taken it out of him.

Dean was just easing himself out of his seat with the intention of going looking for Sam, when he heard the clink of a plate being set down in front of him, and turned to see a stack of sandwiches, stuffed full with thickly-carved ham. Castiel cautiously pushed the plate toward him. "Eat Dean," he encouraged with a nervous smile; "you need to keep up your strength to heal."

Dean grimaced as Castiel's words brought him back to the here and now and his broken wrist and slashed chest gave him a synchronised reminder that they were there in all their glory, and totally determined to make his sucky life even suckier for the next few weeks.

His concern for Sam warred with his fatigue and hunger and, well … damnit … those sandwiches did look good. How was a guy supposed to stay angry with the nerdy dork who craps up his life when he goes and does a decent thing like this?

Reminding himself that he was still supposed to be pissed with Castiel, he grunted an ingacious thanks and picked up the top sandwich on the pile with his one good hand. Just the first one, he told himself, then he'd go and find Sam before going and cleaning himself up; and no, the angel wasn't helping him with that; no way, no how!

xxxxx

Dean was midway through the fourth sandwich, lost in the midst of a blissful foodgasm – damnit, the little nerd had even remembered to put mustard in them - chewing and mumbling with hamster-cheeked bliss when Sam appeared in the doorway. Still dressed in a sweat-stained tee and sagging sweatpants, his greasy, unwashed bed-hair hung limply around and over his pallid face, partially hiding the dark circles under his eyes.

The sheen of sweat across his cheeks together with the weary sag of his broad shoulders showed that although the worst of the illness appeared to be over, he was clearly debilitated by its lingering effects.

"Hey Dean," he croaked; "How'd it go?"

"Mmm-fff" Dean mumbled through the wad of chewed sandwich in his mouth; "how're you?" he managed to add.

"Better," Sam sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck; "worst is over I reckon, just exhausted now."

Dean nodded, pulling his injured arm in toward his chest to avoid Sam's attention; no need to worry him with the details of today's catalogue of disasters just yet. He shot a warning look to Castiel who shrunk timidly back into the wall, seemingly understanding its meaning. "Okay, that's good," he replied; "go back to bed Sammy, sleep it off. Me an' Cas are back now, everything's good."

Sam nodded, giving Dean a weary smile which melded into a jaw-cracking yawn as he turned and trudged back out of the doorway toward his room.

Dean took another bite of his sandwich. At least Sammy was better, he mused as he chewed; that was the one good thing to come out of this craptastic day.

Once he'd cleaned up, he'd have to get Cas to splint his wrist – God help him. Then perhaps he could think about how the heck he was going to fix the impala. Awesome sandwich or not, he was sorely tempted to use Castiel's head as a jack.

Polishing off the last of the snack, he was wiping his greasy fingers on the leg of his jeans, when he was suddenly disturbed by Sam's voice behind him.

"Oh Dean," Sam croaked, standing once again in the doorway; "by the way, I figured out what it was - the only thing I ate before I was ill – don't eat the ham in the refrigerator. Better toss it in the trash … "

Dean looked down in horror at his empty, crumb-strewn plate, and then up at Castiel's saucer wide blue eyes.

The horrified ex-angel's mouth moved goldfish-like as he tried to find the appropriate words for the occasion.

"I'm so, so sorry De…"

"DON'T SAY IT!"

xxxxx

end


	46. Joke's On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inappropriate gifts have a way of turning round and biting you in the ass …

Angels didn't have birthdays, so for Castiel, the Winchesters celebrated the day upon which he entered their life instead.

This morning, as Castiel opened his gifts from the Winchesters, he didn't notice the faint smirk on Dean's face, nor the disapproving frown on Sam's.

The wrapping paper fell away, revealing a pair of obnoxiously red boxer briefs bearing the epithet, 'syphon the python!'

Head cocked inquisitively, Castiel stared at the brothers.

'I don't understand that reference …'

Now it was Sam's turn to smirk; "well, you'd better explain it to him Dean."

Suddenly the reddest thing in the room was Dean's face.

Xxxxx

End


	47. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Hallowe'en, and we join Team Free Will having a night in at the bunker. There's pizza, cakes and a movie. But what movie ...?

"Okay, we're all set". Sam smiled contentedly as he lit the last candle in the bunker's main hall to mark the beginning of the Winchesters' Hallowe'en celebrations.

"Dean did not acquire those candles from the church like he did last year, did he?" Castiel replied as he looked on disapprovingly.

"No," Sam shook his head, side-eyeing Dean as he did. "He bought these from the hardware store." Castiel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "He did, honestly, I was there," Sam confirmed, nodding frantically. "I saw him buy them."

Castiel, at least, seemed satisfied. "Good," he stated; "because you have no idea how much damage limitation I had to do in Heaven to get him off the 'smite with immediate effect' list.

Listening to the conversation from the other side of the room, Dean rolled his eyes as he set the biggest pizza Sam had ever seen down on the table.

"Don't know what all the fuss was about," he grunted sniffily; "it's not like they couldn't spare a few."

Sam opened his mouth to retort when he was silenced by a clap of Dean's hands.

"Okay ladies," he grinned; "we have beer, we have Cola for certain angels who start puking after more than two sips of beer, we have my favourite XXXL meat feast pizza with extra mozzarella, extra chicken, extra ham, extra pepperoni, extra barbecue sauce, and few of my own little additions; some onions, a sprinkle of parmesan, some of those cool mushrooms with the rude name, a few jalopenos, two fried eggs, some bacon, a touch of extra garlic and – because Sam'll be whining about having nothing green to eat, there's an olive – there – right in the middle."

Sam scowled. "You forgot the anchovies."

"Do we have candy?" Castiel chimed in, looking around the table for any evidence of said candy, "or has Dean eaten it all?"

"He hasn't eaten the three boxes of cakes that I put in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator," Sam grinned; "I knew he'd never look there." He nudged the bemused angel knowingly. "I'll go and get them."

Dean smirked as he watched Sam's retreating form, reflecting on the fact that Sam would in fact find two boxes of cakes. He seemed to have overlooked the fact that Dean liked a slice of tomato in his homemade burgers.

Not so clever, after all, Brainiac!

xxxxx

Ten minutes later, Team Free Will were slumped side-by-side on the bunker's overstuffed sofa, tucking heartily into their gigantic pizza. They had fallen into a convivial silence, and the room was filled with the sounds of contented munching, smacking lips, blissed-out sighs, and the occasional soft burp.

During a brief pause for breath, Dean leaned over and pulled his angelic companion into a playful headlock, almost causing the unsuspecting angel to lose a lump of pizza crust up his nose, and subjected Castiel to an energetic noogie.

"So, we gotta choose a movie for Halowe'en," he grinned; "something creepy and, well, y'know, Hallowe'eny. I know just the thing!"

"Oh no," Sam groaned; "not My Bloody Valentine?"

"Why not," Dean rounded; "it's a great movie!"

"Nah," Sam's nose wrinkled in distain; "it's crap. The blood's clearly tomato sauce, and the script's written by a two-year-old."

"Anyhow," he added; "that dude in it looks just like you, and that's just plain creepy – and not in a good way!"

Dean frowned; "well what then?"

"How about House of Wax?"

"Hell NO!" Dean snapped; "that's even worse. I reckon that script was written by one of the waxwork dummies!"

"Paris Hilton …" singsonged Sam, by way of an enticement.

Dean shrugged; "Yeah, okay but if I wanted to look at something plastic and pretty, I'd get a Barbie doll. And anyway, talking of plastic and pretty, there's some dude in that who looks a bit like you – only before your balls dropped. Assuming, of course, they have dropped …"

"I saw a good movie on Netflix a few weeks ago," Castiel murmured around a mouthful of pizza; "that might be suitable for Hallowe'en viewing."

The brothers paused their bickering to regard the angel's earnest gaze.

"It is set in the United Kingdom and it stars a very talented and engaging actor. It is about the Apocalypse."

The Winchesters glanced at each other and shrugged.

"Yeah, that sounds cool, let's give it a go ..."

xxxxx

end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is, of course, referring to 'Stonehenge Apocalypse' starring the lovely Misha Collins. If you like movies with a completely unbelievable bizarro plot and sets and scenery that look like they were researched by a poorly trained baboon, then this is the movie for you!


	48. More to an Angel than Meets the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's great idea – for Castiel to dress up as an angel for Hallowe'en – is not, apparently, as simple as it first appears.

"Dean, an angel's natural form is approximately the height of the Chrysler Building, which, along with our wing span, could impede my manoeuvrability. Our halos glow with the heat of a thousand stellar nucleii, and I would need access to all the Earth's largest nuclear reactors to recreate that level of fission, and would almost certainly blind or incinerate everyone within the hemisphere. Our wings also cannot be seen in your world as they are composed of ultra-physical cosmic cellular matter which does not exist in this dimension …"

Dean sighed wearily. "So white robe, cardboard wings and tinsel halo is out of the question then?"

xxxxx

End


	49. Don't Harp On About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all angels play the harp.   
> Are you listening Dean?

DON'T HARP ON ABOUT IT

Young Castiel sighed, glancing around the empty classroom, then out through the window at the other little angels, swooping and laughing outside as they played tag around the clouds.

Resentment simmered within him. He wanted to be playing with his friends; instead, he was stuck here, in detention, all because he hadn't been paying attention in harp lessons.

He didn't even like the harp; stupid girly plinky-plonky thing.

Castiel swore that he'd never play the harp again, and he'd certainly never own one.

Millenia later, and Castiel's still wondering why it's so hard for Dean to understand. He REALLY doesn't have a harp!

xxxxx

end


	50. Too Much Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel still struggles with the concept of 'too much information'.

TOO MUCH INFORMATION

xxxxx

Team free will sat against the side of the parked Impala and looked up in silent awe at the glittering stars strewn across the night sky.

Taking a sip from his beer bottle, Dean pointed up to a cluster of stars above his head. "I like looking at the stars and figuring out the constellations," he began; "I mean, look at that one up there …"

"That is the constellation of Cepheus," Castiel murmured with a smile; "It was first identified by the 2nd century astronomer Ptolemy and is named after a Greek mythological King. It is composed of a several ultramassive stars of the red supergiant and orange hypergiant classes which are collectively known as Cepheid Variables. It also contains several binary stars and a hyperluminous Quasar. Its brightest star is called Alpha Cephei by your scientists and has a magnitude of 2.5. It is said that the constellation contains a massive black hole equivalent to 40 billion Earth solar masses, which means it is one of the largest black holes theorised by mankind."

Dean stared silently at his friend's doleful blue eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, whatever Cas. I was going to say it looks like a dog wearing a pointy hat."

xxxxx

end


	51. Home Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is trying something new.  
> This isn't always a good thing.

HOME RUN

xxxxx

Sam, Dean and Castiel crowded onto the bunker's overstuffed couch to watch the evening news.

"… and mystery surrounds the AmericAir flight which appeared to have been struck by a baseball whilst flying over Kentucky airspace at approximately thirty seven thousand feet this afternoon. Although the plane's hull was slightly damaged by the impact, no passengers or crew were harmed during the incident. The local police department do not suspect foul play …"

Two pairs of accusatory eyes turned to the shamefaced angel who squirmed miserably beneath their scrutiny.

"I have never played baseball before," he mumbled sulkily.

xxxxx

end


	52. Hair Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is interested in learning more about the human condition. A little TOO interested for Dean's liking …

HAIR BRAIN

xxxxx

"Dean?"

"Yeah Cas, what?"

"Sam has a large patch of hair across his chest and yet you have none. Why is that?"

"What the hell? Seriously…?"

"Why would this not be serious? I am merely curious, as my vessel, Jimmy Novak, has no hair on his chest either."

"Cas, I don't wanna know about Jimmy Novak's … anything; and I don't know why Sam and me are different. We just are."

"Dean, I'm sensing awkwardness."

"Cas, dudes just don't ask each other about stuff like that, okay?"

"Oh …"

"… so it would be inappropriate to ask whether Sam has more hair on …"

"DAMNIT CAS, YES!"

xxxxx

end


End file.
